


Tales from Warehouse Twelve

by Charity_Angel



Category: Torchwood, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Prequel, Sexuality Crisis, Threesome - F/M/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/pseuds/Charity_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wolcott joins the Warehouse and discovers that there is more to the world than he imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I couldn't reisist this once I'd given in to the urge to write about Wolcott. I hate myself, because I already have two WIPs that I REALLY want to finish.  
> Fair warning - I am not intending on updating this regularly, for reasons cited above. Things will be added as they come to me, and not necessarily in chronological order. Sorry, guys. (Then again, writing Jack AND Helena is great fun - she's worse than Tosh!)  
>  ** _For the Torchwood fans_** , as before, you do not need a vast amount of knowledge of _Warehouse 13_ as this is a prequel. All you need to know is that the setting is Victorian, and that Wolcott (who appeared on screen for all of about five minutes in a single episode) was played by our very own GDL.  
>  ** _For the W13 fans_** , equally you don't need a vast amount of knowledge of Torchwood because, again, this is a prequel to the show, and we're looking at this from a Warehouse perspective so any info you will need as things go on will be spoon-fed.  
>  ** _For anyone who hasn't followed _"Underhanded Tactics"__** , the 'footnotes' can be accessed by hovering your cursor over the number. Here, it is just the translations - I'm not intending on carrying on the style I'm trying out there.
> 
> Right, so Warehouse 13 has a somewhat conflicted continuity. For the sake of argument, I am taking the dates given in Season 2 for H.G.'s timeline, meaning that Christina Wells was born in 1891, ignoring her statement in "3...2...1..." that Christinia had been 'gone' for two years prior to 1893.  
> I am also using the name of 'David Wolcott', as stated by Myka in "Lost and Found", rather than 'William Wollcott', which is cited on the W13 wiki, but doesn't seem to have any canonical basis.

David Wolcott had learned at a young age that he was different from other people. At the age of seven, he had been scolded by his teachers for hugging a girl at school because she was sad. The girl in question had not shared with anyone the fact that her father had just died, and no-one else had realised because she was hiding it so well. By the age of eight, he was widely heralded as the school hero, because he was always the one who ended up with the Welsh Not. His friends thought he was a hero but, if he was honest with himself, the physical pain caused by the smacking he received was nothing compared to the pain and fear he felt when others were struck.

He was lucky in a way: his parents had been just about rich enough for him to continue schooling after compulsory attendance ended at the age of ten. He was a bright boy, and his parents were keen for him to have the means with which to escape from Newport and make a name for himself. This happened at the age of sixteen when he inadvertently brought himself to the attention of Warehouse agents by being able to identify a classmate who was under the murderous control of the sword of Rhys Gethin, the Welsh General who had freed Newport from English control in 1402. 

David had bidden goodbye to Newport with barely a backward glance. His English father was glad that his only child was going off to London to an important government job, and his mother had passed a few months beforehand. That his father was no longer having to foot the bill for his education was an added bonus, David told himself.

Seeing Warehouse Twelve made David realise he had made the right choice in leaving his home, and in the few months he was allowed to acquaint himself with the correct procedures, his colleagues, and the Warehouse itself, David learned that the Welsh were still seen as savages by many English people, and he therefore learned to suppress his natural accent and completely surrounded himself with English day and night, often falling asleep as he was pouring over some piece of paperwork or another, in order to ensure that any stray exclamations were in English rather than his mother’s native, troublesome, Welsh.

Once he was deemed suitably educated for field work, and he had passed the accuracy tests with Nicolas Tesla’s electrical weapon, he was partnered with the famous H.G. Wells. Wolcott quickly got over his shock that she was a woman when she saved his life, and he picked up a lot of additional information about her by listening to both the gossip at the Warehouse and her emotions. Her affection for people was deep, but often fickle. She had no qualms about offering herself to a man in exchange for information. Indeed, she had no qualms about offering herself to a woman in exchange for information. Miss Wells seemed to keep a string of lovers, both male and female. He wondered which of the men, if any, was the father of Christina, the beautiful three-year-old child he had once met at her home.

He had been in the field as a fully-fledged agent for around a year when they met Jack Harkness for the first time. The Warehouse files had mentioned Torchwood, but had been somewhat lacking in detail. Wolcott had asked around, but no-one had been particularly forthcoming about what exactly Torchwood was. The general feeling was that they were intruders, trying to do for the crown what the Warehouse did for the good of humanity in general. The Regents had long believed that any royal or governmental control over the Warehouses would be disastrous, and there was Torchwood, standing for Queen and Empire, trying to do the same job.

Jack Harkness was charming, and genuinely interested in both him and Miss Wells. That very fact had him more interested than, as he knew he should have been, disgusted. His own interest in Harkness left him confused and, after Harkness had shown them that the artefact they were hunting was, in fact, extra-terrestrial in origin, and therefore did not fall under the purview of the Warehouse, Helena took him to her home, settled him in the drawing room and poured them both large glasses of brandy.

“Woolly,” she said soothingly, sitting directly opposite him and taking his hand in earnest, “you have known me for long enough to know that attraction to an individual can transcend gender.”

He nodded, almost absently. He had wondered for a while: he was eighteen years old, an age where he should have been seeking a wife, but no woman had struck his fancy. No woman beyond Miss Wells herself, that was, and she was soiled goods; hardly an appropriate young lady to start courting. Only she seemed equal to him; the few other women at the Warehouse were record keepers, and were vacuous creatures simply waiting to be married. Women in general, and particularly those of noble breeding, bored him because their heads were filled with nothing but romance and sewing. Miss Wells was more than the equal of any man: intelligent, sharp-witted, and able to both visualise and create the most extraordinary machines. She was a true genius, and it was a tragedy indeed that she was forced to utilise her rather dim-witted brother Charles in order to be taken seriously in society and get her books published. He had wondered if Miss Wells was a man trapped in a woman’s body, and that was the reason she sometimes took a woman to her bed.

Jack Harkness was making him realise that might not be the case, because he certainly wasn’t a woman trapped in a man’s body, but he felt an attraction to the man like nothing he had experienced before. He _wanted_ Harkness, wanted to be with him, beside him. He wanted to kiss him. That was quite a frightening revelation.

Miss Wells seemed to follow his thoughts, even without his gift. “No-one has been hanged for sodomy in almost sixty years,” she assured him. “Homosexuality no longer incurs the death penalty. Indeed, there are places in London itself where the police tend to turn a blind eye to men doing what they like with other men.”

Wolcott wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t know of Molly houses, but he had never even entertained the barest glimmer of a thought of setting foot in one. Yet, less than three hours later, he found himself at the threshold, daring himself to enter.

“Well, hello there, cutie-pie,” a man said from his left. Wolcott spun, and blushed as he saw the largest man he had ever seen beside him, smiling at him in a predatory manner. The man was interested in him in the same way that Jack Harkness had been, and for the first time, Wolcott found himself on the receiving end of the same look he had seen used on some of the girls back in Newport. It wasn’t as friendly as Jack’s appreciative glances, and it made Wolcott feel a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t a fool: he had studied biology, and he knew how humans reproduced. He had plenty of theoretical knowledge about the sexual act between man and wife, but absolutely no idea about how it worked in practice, or how it worked between people of the same gender.

“You look nervous. First time?”

Wolcott nodded quickly at this blond bear of a man.

“Well, that’s okay,” the man assured him. “We don’t bite, you know. Not unless you want us to, anyway.” The man winked at him, and Wolcott found himself blushing.

The man nudged him gently out of the way and opened the door to the establishment, which purported to be a tea room. He then turned back and held out his hand. “Why don’t you come on in, gorgeous, and see if this is your scene?”

.oOo.

Wolcott had made himself stay for an hour, taking tea and being pawed by several men, all of whom seemed to take pleasure in his youthful features and unusual height for such a submissive man. He felt like a brood mare being assessed. 

It was the moment in which a hand strayed to his groin that he fled. He had never felt more out of his depth than at the Molly house, surrounded by men who either wanted him or those (generally wearing dresses and corsets) who were jealous of the attention he was receiving.

He determined from this experience that he wasn’t of the homosexual persuasion after all, and whatever he had felt for Captain Harkness had been fleeting and a result of his youth and the thrill of the chase.

.oOo.

A month passed, and he and Miss Wells found themselves in Cardiff, chasing a shield that had once belonged to King Arthur, and had the ability to make people suggestible to the point they would follow any instruction, no matter how destructive it was. Four men had already died in various unusual ways, the last having simply walked directly into the Taff. The currents had carried him away into the sea, and they stood little chance of recovering his body.

The residents of the Cardiff docklands area already hated the English, so he was the one interviewing people, enjoying being able to converse in his native Welsh while Miss Wells observed their surroundings for clues as to the whereabouts of the miscreant. As they got closer and closer to Penarth, he started hearing people mention an American who had been insistently poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Sure enough, as they found themselves pursuing the youngster, Gareth Pryce, through the streets of Penarth itself, Captain Jack Harkness was suddenly running with them, grinning like a madman.

Miss Wells fell behind as they neared the coast, and it seemed like the two of them had Pryce cornered when he ran along the half-built pier. They slowed as Pryce, a boy of no more than fifteen, stopped suddenly and turned to face them, holding the small shield out as if to protect himself.

“You!” he shouted, pointing at Jack. “You do not belong here. This land is ours.”

Oh, wonderful. A Welsh nationalist. Just what they needed with a brash American beside him.

“Mr Pryce, _nid oes rhaid i chi brifo pobl 1._”

Harkness’ attention seemed to shift to him, surprise and attraction radiating from him.

 _“Nid ydynt yn perthyn yma! 2”_ Pryce cried. The youngster was angry, but under that anger, Wolcott could sense distress and grief. _“Dylai Cymru fod ar gyfer y Gymraeg. 3”_

“Pwy wnaethoch chi golli?4” Wolcott asked him, taking a step towards him slowly.

Pryce looked stricken. _“Fy nhad a fy mrodyr, 5”_ he admitted. _“Maent yn eu lladd yn y pyllau 6. Mae’r fforman Saesneg eu gaeth7.”_

Suddenly this boy’s plight made a lot more sense to him. Wolcott had been lucky – his father had been a foreman at the steelworks, and between him and his seamstress mother had managed to make enough money to keep Wolcott out of the both the factory and the coal mines. Many of his childhood friends had not been so fortunate, and were now labouring as their fathers and grandfathers had before them. All of Pryce’s victims so far had either been English, or in the second instance, a Welsh foreman: the boy was seeking a justice they both knew would never happen through the courts.

“What’s going on?” Harkness demanded, turning Pryce’s attention back to him.

“Walk,” the boy said, and Harkness did so, moving slowly towards the open end of the pier. His expression was blank, but Walcott could feel both fear and resignation from him, a bizarre combination of emotion.

“I don’t have time for this,” Wolcott grumbled. He pulled his Tesla while Pryce’s attention was still on Harkness, and stunned the boy. He grabbed the shield quickly and shouted: “Stop!”

Harkness did so, then turned on his heel and strode back to Wolcott. He grabbed Wolcott and kissed him firmly, his entire body radiating excitement and lust. Much to his surprise, Wolcott found himself responding enthusiastically, if clumsily.

Dimly, on the periphery of his attention, he heard Miss Wells arrive finally. She chuckled and said: “You could have waited for me, boys.”

Harkness pulled away, amused, leaving Wolcott feeling like his world was ending. His head was spinning, and nothing else seemed to matter other than Harkness.

“I’m sure you can join in, Helena,” Harkness said with a grin. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Miss Wells was crouched by the discarded shield, wrapping it in a neutraliser-infused cloth to ensure that any further effects were ended. Once finished with her task, she looked up at them, her face alight with anticipation. 

“As I recall, Jack, there’s almost as much of you as you think there is.”

Harkness pretended to be insulted, before grabbing Miss Wells’ hand and pulling her into their embrace.

“I trust you have lodgings somewhere nearby?” she said, looking up at the two of them.

Harkness grinned. “We should be able to find a Hackney. It’s not far.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in rating. Seriously, note it now. This chapter is 4,000 words of smut.

Captain Harkness had a fairly small flat on the western edge of Cardiff Bay, and by the time they reached it, Wolcott was feeling distinctly nervous. Both Captain Harkness and Miss Wells had made their intentions clear, but that wasn’t who he was. His parents had raised him in a strictly Christian environment, to believe, amongst other things, in the sanctity of marriage. Miss Wells had made him question these morals somewhat, given how happy and well-adjusted she appeared to be; perhaps it was simply time that he embraced this particular aspect of humanity.

Captain Harkness seemed to understand. He regarded him carefully, a smile playing about his lips. Lips that not all that long ago had been on his, tantalising, stimulating…

“Have you been with a man before?”

Wolcott blinked. “Um…”

“I think the more accurate question would be whether he has been with anyone,” Miss Wells pointed out. She sounded amused, but there was a vast amount of underlying affection.

Wolcott blushed.

“A guy this handsome, a virgin?” Captain Harkness was intrigued and delighted. “I haven’t corrupted a virgin in years.”

Miss Wells stepped between the two men, facing Walcott. “Before we start, and whatever influence you have takes a hold of his mind, we should check that Woolly has no objections to what is about to occur.”

Wolcott swallowed nervously as Miss Wells took his hands in hers.

“David, you understand that we are about to engage in sexual congress, don’t you?”

Her eyes bored into his, her concern and affection for him almost overwhelming at such close quarters.

“Yes,” he managed to croak past the dryness that had suddenly manifested itself in his throat and mouth.

“Do you wish to participate?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Miss Wells stretched up and pressed a kiss to his lips gently. “Good,” she purred.

.oOo.

They took their time undressing him: there was so much affection and anticipation between the two of them that Wolcott completely forgot to be embarrassed by his nudity. Hands and lips caressed every part of skin they uncovered, each of them going in opposite directions as his shirt was slipped from his shoulders and his chest revealed. His skin seemed to sing as their lips moved from his neck down towards his nipples. Once there, he heard a loud moan, and it took him a moment to realise it had come from him. Captain Harkness squeezed the little bud gently between his teeth before letting go.

“Oh, kid, if you liked that, just you wait until later on.”

Captain Harkness continued his inexorable path downwards, his sure hands unbuttoning Wolcott’s trousers and drawers deftly, easing them downwards to expose him fully. Harkness dropped to his knees, and stroked his hands up and down Wolcott’s legs sensuously as Miss Wells moved back up the way, her wicked teeth nipping tantalisingly at the pulse in his neck.

He gasped in surprise when Captain Harkness’s hand stroked over his cock. It was exquisite: he had not so much as touched himself in years, following the strapping he had received from his grandmother when she had caught him trying to wash his seed out of soiled night clothes.

Miss Wells – Helena – gently pulled on the back of his head, bending his neck so that he was looking down at Captain Harkness as Harkness looked back at him, blue eyes darkened with lust. Harkness licked his lips and, without further warning, took Wolcott’s cock into his mouth. Wolcott let out a loud shout as the warm heat seemed to spread through his entire body. Every nerve seemed to vibrate in a delicious harmony as Harkness stimulated him with his lips and tongue. His breathing became ragged quickly, and when Helena kissed him, her lips firm against his, the feel of her blouse rough against his sensitised skin, his body tensed, before, with a muffled shout, he erupted.

.oOo.

Wolcott found himself sitting on a very soft, luxurious rug when he was next fully aware of his surroundings. His shoes and socks had been removed, and he was fully nude. Somewhat more importantly, Captain Harkness and Miss Wells were knelt either side of him, leaning over his legs as they kissed. Both were stripped to their undergarments.

The emotions pouring from them were intoxicating – whilst lust was the overriding drive, they had a deep respect, admiration and affection for each other that suggested a longer familiarity than Wolcott had originally believed to be the case.

They turned to him when they parted.

“Woolly, you’re back with us,” Miss Wells – Helena – observed, her voice cheerful. “How are you feeling?”

“I… I believe I understand why you have so many lovers,” he said, keeping his face straight.

She smiled, her eyes alight with laughter. It had taken her a while to get used to his dry wit, but now that she had, she had gained an appreciation of his sense of humour.

“Now,” Captain Harkness sat down beside him, and draped an arm around his shoulders in an oddly brotherly fashion, “men are fairly easy to please – virgins more so – but women are a whole different kettle of fish. Helena’s good at telling men what she likes, so…”

“I think Woolly will manage,” Miss Wells interrupted him with a smirk. She straddled Wolcott’s legs and, on all fours, leaned in to kiss him. The moments before their lips met, Wolcott was afforded an excellent view of her bosom, smooth creamy white skin pushed up by and disappearing into her deep blue corset.

Having spent quite some time with Miss Wells, he was quite able to interpret what she meant when she only said a small fraction of what she actually intended him to understand. She was well acquainted with his peculiar gift, and making full use of it in this situation would benefit all three of them.

Using his initiative, he pulled her into his lap. She smiled and brought her hands up to cradle his face as his traced around her slender waist to the fastenings at the front of her corset. He had helped his mother repair enough undergarments over the years – he knew how they worked (although he had never tried to open them while still attached to an actual woman). He pressed the two sides together, and the whole thing popped open. Miss Wells sighed with relief and Captain Harkness chuckled as he threw it aside.

“Nicely done, kid.”

Walcott ignored him, not breaking his concentration and, recalling how they had treated him earlier, moved his lips from hers to her jaw, down her neck to her shoulder. Her breathing hitched ever so slightly, and the feelings he sensed from her became more pleasant, something he found encouraging. She gasped with delight when he fastened his lips over her exposed right breast, his tongue tracing a spiral around the nipple. As he brought his hand up to caress her other breast, she made a sound of delight and wriggled in his lap trying to get more comfortable. As her silken underwear, and the heat of her body, came into contact with his erection, he groaned, his task all-but forgotten as his own body shot pleasure and desire along every nerve.

Miss Wells – Helena – looked somewhat smug, pleased that she had managed to elicit such a reaction from him. She took his hands in hers and guided them to the buttons at the back of her undergarments. He unfastened them slowly, his hands now shaking as she held his gaze. Once the garment was loose, she pulled his right hand back around and pushed it rather forcefully below the silk, between her legs. He gasped with astonishment as his fingers slipped through hot, wet folds, a tantalising thrill coming from Helena as his fingers moved. By paying careful attention to all of his senses, he found a small nub of flesh, hidden in the folds, and focussed his attention on that. Helena moaned and squirmed with pleasure.

Captain Harkness pressed his back to hers, reaching around and massaging her breasts in time with her breathy moans.

“Don’t you want to see her?” he asked, his voice low. “Don’t you want to enjoy all of her?”

Wolcott did, very much so, and Helena reclined in Harkness’ arms, allowing Wolcott to ease the damp silk down her long legs, exposing her fully. Curly, dark hair, much like his own, gave way to glistening pink as she spread her legs for him. Out of curiosity, he licked his damp fingers. The flavour was pleasantly tangy and he wondered whether she would get the same pleasure as he did from oral stimulation. He shuffled himself around so that he was lying on his front. Tingling feelings of anticipation and pleased astonishment from his bedfellows told him he was doing the right thing.

“Here, put her knees over your shoulders,” Captain Harkness murmured, pulling one of Helena’s knees up to give him more space. He slid himself forwards and tentatively licked a broad stripe up through the damp warmth. Helena gasped and twisted to give him a better angle as once again he found that part of her that made her emotions sing in his head.

“Helena, where did you find this treasure?” he heard Captain Harkness whisper, far above his head, as he set to work.

It was as he experimentally slid his fingers into Helena’s body, reacting to her vague feelings of emptiness and longing, pulling shudders and moans of delight from her, that Wolcott realised that Captain Harkness had moved. He was no longer behind Helena, holding her up, but behind him, and the older man was sparkling with desire and mischief and curiosity. As Wolcott used his hand in place of his mouth, giving him a chance to rest his aching jaw and tongue, Captain Harkness nudged his knees apart and settled himself between Wolcott’s legs. Strong hands stroked up his thighs and over his buttocks, and paused to massage the firm muscles there. His cock, already thick and heavy between his legs, twitched against the rug and he moaned.

Captain Harkness gave a chuckle, and pressed his thumbs between the cheeks, parting them and exposing his hole. Wolcott trembled and faltered in his pleasuring of Helena, who seemed to find this amusing and frustrating simultaneously.

“I believed he enjoyed that, Jack dearest.”

Wolcott let out a strangled moan when Captain Harkness ran the pad of his right thumb around his anus, stimulating nerves he didn’t even know were there.

“Oh, Helena, listen to him,” Jack said breathily, awe creeping into his dance of emotions. “And I haven’t even touched him properly yet.”

Wolcott gave up trying to be good and shifted his hips, trying to find that delicious touch again. As he did so, his cock rubbed against the rug, creating a friction that was just this side of painful against the sensitive skin. He let out a greedy, wanton groan and rocked his hips again, feeling the slide race along his nerves. He needed more; he needed this desperately.

Captain Harkness swatted at his backside and held him firmly, stopping the motion in its tracks.

“Hey, kid, no. You’ll end up with friction burns that way, and if there is one place you _don’t_ want those, it’s there. C’mon, hands and knees.”

Something in him scrambled to obey the edge of the order that was in his voice, a visceral reaction that seemed to amuse and excite both of his partners. In this new position, his cock hung down, so heavy and hot and needy he had to reach for it. Helena grabbed his hand before he could touch himself, her head shaking gently.

“Jack knows what he’s doing, darling,” she said softly. “Trust him, just like you have been doing. He won’t push you too far.”

In response, Captain Harkness spread his cheeks again and ran the pad of his thumb directly over the exposed hole. He let out a surprised shout and shoved backwards, chasing the sensation, wanting more. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted, just that he wanted it, and Jack Harkness was going to give it.

There was a kiss pressed between his shoulders, and Captain Harkness’ strong arms wrapped around his waist, pressing their hot skin together, pressing the unmistakable firmness of Captain Harkness’ erection along the line of his buttocks. Wolcott rocked his hips, wanting it. He wanted that inside him, wanted to feel filled, feel those sparkles that Helena had felt when he slid his fingers into her.

“Hey, calm down,” Captain Harkness whispered, pressing soft kisses along the length of his spine. “You’ll get it, don’t worry about that. But we need to take it slow: the ass isn’t quite as good as a cunt at taking a cock – you have to take longer getting it ready; just like you got to play with Helena, I’m gonna play with you.”

He wanted to understand, he really did. But he was so, so desperate to release this tension that had been building in his body all he could manage in response was a needy whine.

“Jack, I’m sure you can still play if you let him arrive,” Helena said. “He’s eighteen years old: he’ll bounce back soon enough. And in the meantime, you can entertain me. I can assure you that won’t take too long.”

Wolcott felt his head lifted by her delicate but strong hands, and she leaned in to kiss him at about the same moment Captain Harkness placed the thumb back against his hole, massaging it gently and, with the other hand, slid it along the shaft of his erection. The combination of sensations overwhelmed him and once again he felt his body tense sharply before the moment of release.

As he shook, they gently lowered him so that he was lying on the rug, able to watch as Helena grabbed Captain Harkness by the back of his head and pulled him towards her, pushing downwards until his mouth was on her glistening folds. He lapped and sucked eagerly and reduced Helena to mewls of pleasure and thrusting of her hips within a few short minutes. She really was an exquisite creature, and Wolcott considered himself fortunate to be able to see her at her most beautiful, her most primal. Tease though she may, Helena was very guarded normally, hiding behind her practical clothing and her Warehouse training. At this moment, all of that was stripped away, her head was thrown back and her throat exposed, her breasts pushed upwards as her spine arched beautifully.

He couldn’t resist himself; he scooted over and attached his mouth to her right breast, sucking hard to make the nipple tighten before he rolled his tongue over and around it. Her entire being exploded into pleasure as he scraped his nails lightly over the other breast, a scream tearing itself from her throat and she shuddered beneath him, collapsing to the floor and gasping for breath.

It took him by surprise, and left him gasping too, bracing himself as her pleasure swept through him, making his skin feel too small in a very good way. He could feel, dimly in the background, Jack’s curiosity directed at him, and wondered if he had been found out; after all, the man worked in a similar line to them, and might well be familiar with unusual capabilities.

He hadn’t even recovered from the hit before Jack was behind him again and pressing his… was that his FACE? – between his cheeks, a warm, damp… _tongue!_ probing its way around and even pressing gently into his hole when it opened up as his body became interested once more and remembered what he wanted from Jack. He shoved himself back, taking as much of Jack’s tongue as he could into himself. And Jack was clearly loving it too – he was enjoying giving other people pleasure.

Wolcott sighed with relief as one of Jack’s fingers slid easily into him. His whole body was singing with the anticipation, the fizzing of the excited nerves travelling everywhere, focussing his attention on that one spot of his body; somewhere that had never seemed so very important as it did right now. It was tantalising, teasing, a promise of things to come, sliding in and out and making him sigh with each slip-slide, with Jack’s tongue keeping everything else on edge as it swept around the rim, keeping everything nice and relaxed and open.

“Tell me what you want me to do, David,” Jack’s voice purred, his breath and his lips a curious counterpoint to the thrusting finger. “Do you want more?”

“I want you to…” He paused, took a steadying breath. He could hardly call this any position to come over all shy about what he wanted from Jack, and he knew the words to ask. “Please, I want your cock. I want everything. I want to know what you feel like when you orgasm. I… I want to know what it feels like to be buggered.”

Jack chuckled. “ _Everything_ might be a stretch in the time we have,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the base of Wolcott’s spine, “but we can do the rest and then some. What about Helena? Do you want to know what the inside of her quim feels like against your cock?”

The words stuck in his throat and he nodded helplessly as Jack continued to work him, sliding in and out, in and out. Wolcott thought he might have snuck in a second finger while distracting him with talk about what he wanted from this experience.

“Thought you might. And why wouldn’t you? She feels so good around you, so warm and welcoming it’s like coming home. And when she comes… well, I don’t want to spoil everything for you. I got to say, kid, you’re taking this well.”

He twitched his fingers inside, and Wolcott gave a shout as his vision exploded into stars and his spine arched. His cock twitched, pulling up towards his stomach and fluid sputtered from the tip.

“Good, isn’t it?” Jack purred as he continued his slow, insistent, maddening thrusting.

“More,” he growled. “I need more.”

Jack scissored his fingers, creating a most delightful stretch before sliding a third into the mix. He twisted, deliberately hitting that spot inside Wolcott once more, drawing another strangled cry from him.

Dimly, between his own pleasure at this new sensation and Jack’s enjoyment and building anticipation, Wolcott wondered what Helena was doing. Forcing his eyes open, he discovered that she had turned herself around, still as shamelessly nude as they were, so that she was behind him slightly, facing him, her attention rapt and her eyes fixed upon where Jack was torturing him slowly into madness. She seemed satisfied for now with this passive role in events, and he knew her well enough to know that if she became dissatisfied in any way, she would take it upon herself to be included once more.

Suddenly, Jack stopped and Wolcott found himself empty, bereft. The abrupt change was jarring, and he reached out with his other senses. Jack was unconcerned and indeed, his anticipation had grown enormously. With great effort, Wolcott forced himself to bring his panicked breathing back under control. Which turned out to be a good thing when something hot and big pressed against his greedy, empty hole.

“Keep that breathing nice and slow,” Jack said as he rubbed something slippery around the hole. “You ready for this?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please. I want it.”

“You beg so nicely,” Jack said, stroking one hand along his back. “We need to take it slow at first.”

There was a shove against the hole, against the ring that had seemed so wide around Jack’s fingers and suddenly didn’t seem so stretched after all as Jack’s cock pushed insistently. Wolcott wanted so desperately to welcome it into his body, but was he able to? It didn’t seem likely as that pressure increased, became uncomfortable. Jack grabbed his hip and pulled as he pushed. The head finally shoved all the way through that tight little ring, burning as it stretched far beyond the width of Jack’s fingers. The pleasant tingling of his nerves was subsumed by the pain, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Hey, I know, I know,” Jack said soothingly. The hand that was not on his hip reached around and took hold of his cock, pumping it lazily. Until now it had been standing proud and thick once more, but this was threatening that happy state. But with Jack’s help, his body was starting to relax, the burn lessening, the gentle slide of Jack’s cock merely unfamiliar rather than painful. He inhaled deeply, allowing Jack’s confident, encouraging and strangely soothing presence to guide him, to ease him.

“You’re doing so well, David,” Helena said, her hands stroking up and down his back, guiding the muscles there into easing. “Jack’s rather generously proportioned to be taking your first time out. Doesn’t it feel good, being filled by someone?”

It did. It was still painful, which he knew was to be expected during a virgin’s first time, and he saw no reason why that would be any different for a man being penetrated than a girl, but it _did_ feel good. He still _wanted_ Jack in his body, anticipated those feelings of being somehow complete returning to him as the pain wore off. And Jack’s hand on him was certainly helping, was bringing him back to a happy, tingling state, pumping in time with his gentle back-and-forth rocking.

That movement had felt monumental at first, but he was slowly realising that Jack was only moving perhaps an inch or so, only teasing, and as patient as Jack was, there was an edge of frustration that Wolcott was starting to feel for himself. He found himself rocking his hips, trying to take more of Jack into himself, chasing that feeling he knew would come.

“Patience,” Jack said, sounding and feeling amused. But he moved more, the slick slide of him edging towards pleasure rather than pain, the sensations racing to his spine, pooling in his belly. And the moment Jack’s cock found that place inside him that made him see stars, the pain faded into nothing, subsumed completely by the pleasure that reached to the very tips of his fingers. Everything narrowed down to the feeling of Jack moving inside him, to their balls slapping together with each thrust, to the vibrations of sheer pleasure and joy coming from his two companions who seemed to be kissing. Helena’s slim fingers replaced Jack’s and drove him over the edge, his body clamping around Jack, squeezing tightly and making Jack grunt, his hips stuttering and wet warmth suddenly filling David as thoroughly as Jack’s sheer bliss filled his mind, making his elbows go weak. He collapsed to the ground inelegantly, his face in the rug, his rear still in the air, with Jack sliding out of him and lowering him down gently so that he was lying on his side, curled around so that when he lazily opened his eyes, he could see Jack slumping back on his heels and Helena licking her fingers. It took him a moment to realise she was cleaning her hand of his seed, but when he did, his cock gave a twitch of interest.

“You two do look rather beautiful together,” she commented, her eyes sparkling, “but I do believe it is my turn.”

She crawled over to him, her eyes fixed on him and radiating want and predation. She rolled him onto his back and straddled him, her hands caressing his chest.

“Do you think you have another one in you, darling?” she purred. Her beautiful bottom gyrated above him, the cleft rubbing against his cock, perking it up again. He didn’t want to move – his limbs felt heavy – but he really did want to know the feel of her around him.

“Oh, sweetheart, just you lie there,” she said, leaning down to press a long kiss against his lips. “I’ll do the work.”

Jack chuckled. “Oh, she will. She likes being on top.”

With a smile that David had come to fear over the time he had known her but did not now, Helena reached back, took a hold of him and slid herself down onto his cock. His eyes rolled back as he got the dual sensation of the warm dampness covering his cock, enveloping, swallowing him in, inviting him home and the feedback from her of being filled, that same feeling of completeness he had found with Jack inside him. He watched in awe as her slim, strong legs lifted her up, almost the entire length of him before dropping her back down so that she was flush with his body, taking the whole of him into her aching, willing body.

His hands came up of their own accord, caressing her thighs and coming to rest upon her buttocks, sliding between them and caressing two fingers over the puckered skin of her anus. Her breathing picked up and she pulled him up to her, clutching at him desperately. Her hips tilted this way and that, her body desperate to relieve the tension built up inside, and David slid his right hand between them, his fingers working to find that little nub of flesh again. Helena’s breath caught in her throat as he rubbed against it, her mind desperately chasing the ever-nearing climax, body moving mindlessly. She let out a wordless cry as her muscles seized, clamping around him and turning that slick, hot tunnel narrow and tight and milking his own orgasm from him.


End file.
